Forever Changed
by Van Arat
Summary: AU Sometimes you get second chances. Sometimes they come in the form you least expect. And sometimes, you don't even realize you're getting a second chance. Especially if your Tom Riddle and you've just woken up from a dream...


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

A.N: I really enjoyed writing this, maybe even too much. Especially the dream sequence. I don't know why but hey? Who cares, right?

**Forever Changed  
****Waking Up**

_The wood above him groaned as it sagged under the weight of whatever was above it. Dust fell through hairline cracks; clouding the air and thus, chocking him. He coughed as he tried to breathe. **He couldn't breathe!** He was going to **die!** There was **too much** dust in the air! His throat contracted painfully and a prickling sensation formed just behind his eyes. No. Oh no, no, **no!** He was **not** going to cry! He didn't do crying. But even as those thoughts swirled around in his head tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, threatening to pour down his cheeks. No, **oh no,** no, no!_

_The wood above him cracked dangerously._

_Panic took hold as thoughts of the older boys having finally gone through with their threats. They had buried him alive! He was going to die! The lid was going to **collapse** and he was going to be crushed by the dirt he knew was on the other side of the wood. He was going to be as flat as a pancake and as dead as a doorknob. His breath quickened sharply as he started to claw at the lid. He had to find some way to get out! He was crying without hesitation now._

_His nails dug into the aged wood as he scrapped. Harsh sobs racked his lithe form as he wailed, "Oh god, I'm going to die! I'm gonna die! Oh **fucking **god! Please, someone get me out of here! **Please!"** over and over again. Splinters of wood lodged themselves under his nails and blood crept to the surface. Soon, heavy rivers of blood were poring out of his fingers and raining onto his face, while stray splatters littered the walls and his upper body. It never accrued to his ten-year-old mind that he was bleeding far too heavily from his fingers for what was happening to be real._

_A scream bubbled up from his throat as something banged on the side of the coffin before yelling,_

"_Up! Get up! Now!"

* * *

_

His eyes snapped open and he shot up, only to smash his head on what seemed to be the underside of a flight of stairs. Pain slammed into him as he fell back onto his bed; his hands clutching his forehead as he tried to wait out the pain. A prick formed behinds his eyes and as blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. Tom bit his lip to keep from whimpering as another wave of pain pulsed through him. He waited for the mocking laughter of the older boys, the ones that weren't afraid of him and his _freakishness,_ tensely but it never came. Instead, an inhuman screech echoed in his ears.

"Up! Didn't you hear me? I told you to get _up!"_ The woman pounded on the door next to him. He groaned before sitting up slowly, making sure to feel for the overhanging ledge or cupboard with one of his hands so that he didn't give himself anymore of a headache. Footsteps that sounded annoyed stormed away from the other side of the door. The sound of a pan meeting a stove top reminded Tom that he hadn't eaten since lunch the day before.

He sighed and shook his head, trying to dislodge the remains of sleep and his nightmare. He flinched as he remembered the incident that caused him to have these hellish dreams. A group of older boys, lead by a boy that was always making kissing noises and leering at him, had tried to nail him inside of a crate. He shuddered at the memory of the boy licking his cheek to catch a few stray tears, while he held him still as the others looked for a lid. His teeth clamped onto his lip but stopped when he remembered that the boy had also bit his ear between muttered chastises for crying as they waited.

"He's gone; he can't _look_ at me anymore." He breathed shakily as he hugged himself. "He's gone…" It was true. Then next day the boy had been found huddled in a corner, rocking himself back and forth as he alternated between muttering and screaming about snakes and pain. He had been deemed insane and carted off to an asylum.

Slowly, he took a deep breath and counted to ten before letting it go. Tom sighed and began to get dressed, never really bothering to take in his surroundings or what was going on. It wasn't until he was in the kitchen cooking bacon that he even realized something was terribly wrong. He wasn't at the orphanage, though Tom considered that to be an improvement. He was in the house of someone he didn't know, making them breakfast and he was being treated like a _mindless slave._ But that wasn't to worst of it, oh no.

He was in someone else's body.

His eye twitched lightly as he moved the bacon to a platter and started fry eggs. His free hand drifted up to his forehead and his fingers ran over what felt like a scar. Tom easily remembered the feel of his own scar on his left shoulder. He had gotten it when another boy his age, Andrew something-or-other, had taken a dinner knife from the kitchens and rammed it into his shoulder. He wasn't sure exactly why he was singled out but it hardly mattered. His head traced the scar. It felt like it was shaped like a bolt of lightening. Tom wondered how the owner of the body he was in had gotten it.

It was then that a whale of a boy walked into the room. Tom clenched his teeth together to keep himself from sneering in disgust at the sheer size the blond. He turned back to the eggs, mostly to keep them from burning but also so that he didn't have to watch the horse-like woman gush over the boy. It seemed the he was her son. His lip curled in distaste as he listened to the scene. He shook his head before putting the eggs on the same platter as the bacon. Tom smoothed his face and turned around.

He walked over the trio, the husband having come in while he was still in a daze. Without a word, he put the platter down on the only available space on the table, as the rest of it was covered in presents, just as the blond whale scowled. Tom had to force himself not to smirk at the disappointed tone in boy's voice until he realized just how spoiled the boy was.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

_And,_ Tom thought dryly. _Thirty-six more than you probable deserve, brat._

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," Tom watched in morbid amusement as the boy's face turned red. He snatched a few pieces of bacon and sat back to watch the beginning of what seemed to be a tantrum. Oh yes, Tom was defiantly right about this brat being spoiled. He was sure a twisted look of amusement had crossed his face since the older whale of a man glare soundly at him before turning his attention back to his son. He rolled his eyes and didn't even so much as twitch when the telephone rang.

The woman got up to answer it. He watched in vapid interest as the younger whale opened his presents. Tom was eyeing the gold watch skeptically when the woman came back. He wanted to know it the gold plating was actually gold or if it was just coloring. If it really was gold, he wondered how much he could get if he sold it to one of those shops that buy such things.

"She can't take him." Tom tilted his head back and to the side so that he could look at her. He blinked owlishly as she jerked her head in his direction.

"You could leave me here. I've been meaning to catch up on my schoolwork and this way I won't be in your hair." He smiled sweetly and nearly snickered at the disturbed look on her face. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch his magic work. He jumped slightly as the husband nearly roared in protest.

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" Tom twisted around to face him, eyes barely wider than normal in surprise. The woman made a sharp noise in agreement. He had told them exactly what he thought they wanted to hear. So why were they making such a big deal? The husband continued, only this time ignoring him. "We'll have to take him with, Petunia. It's the only way we can guarantee he won't try anything _freakish."_ He twitched. So, even in someone else's body he was still considered a freak…

He zoned out the rest of the conversation and sat there; still, proud and silent. He never noticed that the three other occupants of the room had stopped talking to watch him. Tom didn't know why, but the thought of being considered a _freak_ by these people made his normally controlled anger spike. It anyone was the freak, it was the brat or maybe all three or them. His eyes narrowed and splatters of red flickered into his eyes. The kitchen window shattered.

The woman, Petunia, shrieked loudly. Tom hissed in annoyance and snapped his head around to glare at the shrieking woman. The husband was quick to jump between him and his wife. Their son ran to hide behind his mother. Tom bared his teeth.

Just as quickly as it has started, it was over.

Tom smoothed his features and turned away form the trembling trio to stare out the window. He was disgust with himself for letting his anger get the best of him. How could he have let his control slip so far? It didn't make any sense. Well, yes it did. He was confused and if there was one thing he hated, it was being confused. He sighed and waited for the three to get their acts together. The brat was the first to snap out of his stupor.

"You can't let him come after that!" The boy whined. Petunia was next.

"I understand that you don't want him to ruin your special day, Dinky Duddydums, but we don't have a choice. Just imagine what the neighbors would think if they knew!" Tom surpassed a snort at the nickname. The brat looked properly chastised, but when his mother looked away the boy glared at him hatefully. Just to annoy him, Tom smirked.

The doorbell rang. Petunia nearly ran to the door muttering, "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" The rest of the day went off without a hitch.

* * *

The mail slot clicked softly and the sound of letters landing on a mat followed soon after. Tom titled his head slightly as he sighed in annoyance. His fingers tapped a lazy rhythm on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. One, two, three…

"Get the mail, Dudley."

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry." Tom surpassed a sneer.

"Make Dudley get it." He mocked quietly as he walked out of the room. He knew they all heard him, though they wouldn't do anything since he was doing as he was told. A sneer planted itself on his face. _Just you wait,_ he thought. _I'll get you when you least expect it. _He snatched up the mail and shifted though them. One for Vernon, a bill and… Tom froze. He watched in shock as the name Mr. H. Potter shifted to Mr. T. Riddle. _How the hell…?_ His mouth twitched. Vernon's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Hurry up, boy! What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" The man chuckled. Tom snorted in annoyance and stuffed the letter to his _cupboard, _intending to read it later when he got the chance. He strolled in the kitchen and hand the whale of a man, biting down his urge to say, "Actually, I was planting one." Honestly, his reactions to a number of things were completely messed up. He _didn't_ joke and certainly he _didn't_ let people get under his skin! He sighed inwardly and plopped down into the chair he previously occupied.

It wasn't until he was ready for bed that he was able to sit down and read the letter undisturbed. And when he did, there was no stopping the cold, twisted smile that spread over his features.


End file.
